Trouble with the Law (8 page)
When Mark woke up, a sense of disorientation filled his mind for a moment before he realized where he was. He was lying face down on a bed that was too soft. His mouth felt parched, and a dull ache throbbed all over his body. He glanced at his wrist and realized he wasn’t wearing his watch.
“Justine,” he shouted, and waited for a reply.
An instant later, she rushed into the room. “Are you all right?” Concern furrowed her brow.
“I need a drink.”
“A drink?” she blurted back at him. “As in alcohol?”
“No,” he growled into the pillow. “As in water.”
“Oh.” She gave a nervous chuckle. “That’s better. I’ll get one for you.” She began a slow retreat to the doorway.
“What time is it?” he asked gruffly.
“It’s almost
“I feel like shit,” he said. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“It’s all right,” she told him, her voice carefully neutral. “I don’t have anything better to do. I don’t mind looking after you.”
He buried his head in the pillow once she was gone. How stupid could a grown man get? Despite everything he’d told himself, he was doing it again. He’d told himself to take it lightly, not think of her, and all it had achieved was that he’d thought of her anyway, and had probably got a naughty schoolboy’s pleasure out of doing something he considered forbidden.
Women like her with their big city ways and high maintenance lifestyle were bad news. He knew he could hold his own in sophisticated circles, but he didn’t want that kind of life. He hated the city. But now he wanted her, and that was a problem.
He cursed himself for being stupid enough to make the same mistake twice. He could already imagine the pitying looks people in
“Justine,” he roared, blotting out his fear with anger.
“Yes?” she appeared on the doorstep, carrying a jug of water and an empty glass.
“I’m thirsty,” he said.
“I know.” Her lips twitched as she tried not to smile. “That’s why I’ve brought you water.”
She poured, and handed the full glass to him. He drained the contents and handed back the empty.
“Are you hungry?” she asked as she refilled the glass and offered it to him again.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Are you a good cook?”
“Yes, but I have very little in the kitchen. If you tell me what you want, I’ll run down to the deli. There’s one on the block.”
“I want a steak, medium rare, and garlic mashed potatoes.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes,” he said. “I know I’m acting like a jerk, and I want you to promise that you won’t hold it against me.”
She smiled at him. “It’s all right. All men are cranky patients. Do you want anything else?”
He shook his head, barely stopping himself from telling her that he wanted her.
“Fine. I’ll go and get some groceries. I won’t be long.”
Mark waited while Justine was gone, his nerves taut as he battled with himself. When she returned, she looked in on him, and then went into the kitchen to prepare the food. He breathed in the smells that wafted through, and realized he was ravenous. The sleep had restored him enough to be up on his feet, but when Justine brought the meal to him on a tray and propped him up with pillows, he didn’t protest. Staying the invalid would help him keep his distance. He ate in sullen silence, and then drifted off to sleep again, knowing that the battle was already lost.
He’d ask her up to the county fair, and that meant he’d have to tell her about Elise.
* * * *
Justine lounged on the sofa and watched Sunday morning dawn over the city rooftops. A slow smile rose on her lips as she thought of Mark sleeping next door. Men were such babies when ill or injured, and it amused her that despite his intimidating physical strength, Sheriff Taylor was no different.
A sound from the doorstep caught her attention. She turned to look and saw Mark watching her, a resigned expression on his face. He wore nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. “Good morning,” he said, and crossed the room to her. “I need to leave at ten to catch my ride back to
She smiled and nodded at him.
“Could you come up next weekend? There’s a county fair, and the sheriff’s department and the fire department take a big part in the festivities. If you’re supposed to be my girlfriend, you need to be there.”
“Of course,” she said, managing to appear calm while the sting of disappointment over his explanation chased away the elation that had risen inside her when she first heard his invitation.
“You need to know something, to understand why some people may appear hostile to you.”
“Hostile to me?” she asked, startled.
“I used to be married.”
“So you said.”
“My ex-wife came from the city. We met through my sister-in-law.”
“The one who works as a buyer for a fashion chain.”
“That’s the one.” He sat down on the sofa, forcing Justine to curl her legs out of the way. “When we got married, Elise gave up her job and moved to
“What?” Justine rasped, fury at this unknown woman slicing through her.
“I found she was sharing her apartment with a man, had been living a double life for some time. It seems I was the last to know,” he added dryly.
“What happened?” Justine asked hesitantly. “Did you find them together?”
Mark shook his head. “No. They weren’t at home when I turned up, but it was obvious that a man lived there. I found documents with his name, and ran the details through the police computer. He was actually using the place as his official residence. Had been for six months.”
“Oh my God.” Justine stared at Mark’s stony face. “What did you do?”
“I confronted Elise. She admitted everything, told me she would never adjust to living in the middle of nowhere.” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I discovered that she had got pregnant, but she’d had an abortion. She hadn’t even told me.” He turned to Justine, the pain burning bright in his eyes. “She never offered to bear the child and let me have it, bring it up alone. She just killed it, like she was purging her body of some disease.”
“I’m sorry,” Justine murmured. “No wonder you feel bitter.”
“Everyone in my home town knows.” He gave her a sideways glance. “And the reason they may be hostile to you is because of what Elise did for her job.”
“What?” Justine asked, unease churning inside her.
“She worked in public relations.”
Justine sat in the small stand overlooking the football field and surveyed the scattered crowd. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. She had inspected the biggest pumpkin, patted a piglet, and tasted ten different kinds of angel cakes. Mark had spent most of his time rushing around, taking care of the arrangements, and she’d been left to make her own way.
She felt the assessing glances of
A loud cheer went up as the mayor stood up in the middle of the field and announced the start of the final event, the annual tug-of-war between the sheriff’s department and the fire department. The tiny brass band burst into a fanfare, and two teams jogged in from opposite ends of the field. The fire department wore black T-shirts with orange flames across the chest, and the sheriff’s team sported on their T-shirts a picture of handcuffs on a grey background. Girls in cheerleading outfits marched in from the back, a long hemp rope resting over their shoulders like a gigantic snake.
Next, all the participants were weighed to ensure each team met the rule of a total combined weight of no more than 2000 lbs. The men struck muscular poses when their weight was announced, the women feigned horror when they stepped off the scales.
“The fire department, 1960 pounds,” the mayor announced. “The sheriff’s department, 1890 pounds.”
“We can have one more,” shouted one of the women from the sheriff’s team. Justine recognized the nasal voice who had answered the telephone. “Is there anyone below 110 lbs?” She called out several names, and women in the stand responded with laughter and denials.
“Come along,” the mayor chanted. “Any wife or girlfriend less than 110 lbs?”
“I’m 108 pounds,” Justine called out. “But I haven’t been a girlfriend very long. Is there a time limit to qualify?”
“True love knows no limits,” the mayor announced and waved her down. A few cries of support and a smattering of applause accompanied Justine as she scaled down from the stand, but she could hear the hesitation in the crowd’s reaction. Then she was on the ground, and after her weight had been verified, she crossed the field over to Mark, who watched her approach, an unreadable expression on his face. Justine held her breath, wondering if she had made a mistake.
“Honey, for a city girl, you’re wearing sensible clothes, but why don’t you put this on to protect your white blouse.” The woman with the nasal voice passed her a grey T-shirt with a picture of handcuffs on the front, and Justine slipped it on. Her jeans and sneakers were old, and she had left her gold wristwatch at home, instead relying on the clock in the dashboard when she drove up.
Still Mark hadn’t said anything to her. The young deputy Justine remembered from the Mrs. Harper incident arranged them by size, with Justine at the front, the nasal-voiced woman behind her, Mark with two other burly men at the back, and the young deputy in the middle. They grouped on their side of the white chalk line and curled their hands around the rope. The cheerleaders did a little dance, and finally the mayor blew into his whistle.
The rope bucked in her hands like the tail of an angry alligator as the tugging began. Justine dug her heals into the parched grass and leaned back. The rough texture of the hemp burned her hands, but she held on and pulled with all her might. The team behind her tottered back a step and she moved with them, digging her heels in again and feeling every muscle in her body strain. Then the other team grunted and yanked in unison and she flung forward a step. Behind her, the men yelled and fought back.
On and on it went, gaining a foot, losing a foot. The skin on her hands stung and her legs began to shake, but Justine clung on to the rope like a leech and joined in with the shouting. Then the other team suddenly lost ground and lurched forward, all the way over the white line, and let go of the rope. Justine toppled backwards into a heap of flailing arms and kicking legs. Before she had a chance to find her bearings, someone grabbed her arms and pulled her up and dusted her muddy backside with a few efficient slaps.
“Are you all right? Mark asked, pulling her against his chest and grinning down at her.
“Did we win?” She beamed up at him, oblivious to the people around.
“We sure did.” He bent to plant a resounding kiss on her lips. For a second she gripped his shoulders. Then he turned to shout his congratulations to the rest of the team, one arm still wrapped around Justine to anchor her to his side.
“You did well,” said the nasal-voiced woman. “You look as if the wind would blow you away, but you clung on like a burr.”
“I have strong arms. I was on the rowing team in college.” Justine smiled at the woman. Then the young deputy came over to praise her, and a moment later she had to join in the chorus of yelling, since the fire department tried to heckle them, claiming they had broken any number of rules. Throughout it all, she remained clutched to Mark’s side, his arm possessively around her shoulders.
It was almost an hour later when they finally took their leave and climbed into Mark’s black pick-up truck, muddy and tired. Justine leaned back against the headrest. “That was fun,” she said, her voice hoarse from all the shouting.
He turned to look at her. “You call getting your nails broken and our clothes muddy fun?”
She blinked at him in surprise. “Didn’t you have a good time?”
“
I
did,” Mark said with emphasis. “Elise, my ex-wife, hated that kind of thing. The only time she came, she wore high heels and an expensive dress. She didn’t go close to the piglets because they smelled, and she didn’t taste any of the cakes because they’re too fattening.”
“Oh.” Justine drew a long breath as she added another clue to the hostility she had sensed around her. “I hope people realize I’m not her.”
Mark shook his head at her, laughter dancing in his eyes. “After the tug-of-war, they certainly will.”
They drove a few minutes in silence, and then turned into a narrow drive that sloped up through a cluster of trees. When the house came into view, Justine gasped. Rugged logs that reminded her so much of Sheriff Taylor formed the walls of a two-storey cabin with enormous windows looking out to the forest. On the other side of the house, the ground fell down in a steep incline, and she caught the blue glint of water at the bottom.
“The river is so wide here it almost feels like being on a lake,” Mark said. “I have a rowboat and a pair of kayaks.”
“How long have you lived here?” Justine asked, breathing in the smell of the forest and listening to the wind that rustled in the leaves.
“Three years. After my divorce, I wanted something to keep me busy. It took me almost two years to build this place.”
“You built it yourself?” she asked in disbelief.
“Not alone.” Mark set off along the path toward the house and gestured at her to follow. “I had a retired builder who helped me. He did all the skilled carpentry, and I brought in professionals for the plumbing and electrics.”
As they entered the house, Justine saw that a wide porch ran the length of the house, overlooking the river. “This is lovely.” She rushed up to the tall windows to admire the view.
“Isolated. In the winter you can get snowed in.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. Her heart ached as she imagined him living alone in this wonderful house, his dreams of a family shattered. Then a blush crept along her skin as she imagined being stranded there with him, a storm raging outside, forcing them to seek warmth in each other.
“I guess it was my fault,” Mark said quietly. “A city girl could never adjust to the quiet life.”
Justine shook her head slowly. “I guess they could not.” She watched his face, saw the clouding in his eyes. “But then I wouldn’t really know,” she continued. “I grew up in the country, on a farm with pigs and chickens.”
“You did?”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded at him. “I only moved into the city to be with my fiancé. He was a property developer who bought some land from my father. After we got engaged, I started working for him. That’s how I got into public relations. I majored in art at college. I wanted to be a painter. The idea was that once I had children, I’d stay at home and focus on the children and my painting.” She looked up at him and put on a bright smile. “Of course, the fact that my fiancé didn’t want any children put an end to that, and when I remained single, I had to earn my living, so there was no time left for painting.”
“What sort of things do you paint?”
Justine turned to the window. “Landscapes,” she said in a low voice. “I did portraits too, but mostly I loved forest landscapes.”
* * * *
They took a shower together, washing off the mud and letting the hot water ease the abrasions on their hands and forearms. A new awareness grew within Mark as he began to see Justine, not as a hard and ambitious woman capable of deceit, but as a possible companion, with her own flawed past and unfulfilled hopes.
He bent his head to her breast under the cascading jets and slowly teased the nipple into a peak. Justine buried her fingers in his soaked curls and clung to him, her soft moans muted by the rushing water.
When she arched into him, her shoulders braced against the glass wall of the shower stall, he released her breast and kissed her neck, and then he roamed up to her lips for a slow drugging exploration of her mouth.
Her hands rose to twine around his neck. Not stopping to ask, Mark reached down and pulled her knee to rest against his hip, opening her for his penetration. The eager response of how she leaned up on tiptoe to receive him sent his heart soaring.
He brushed aside the fleeting thought of birth control. The chances were low, and if the unexpected did happen, Justine wouldn’t kill his baby. The knowledge settled inside him like a solid wall that formed a defense against past betrayals.
Impatient, unable to control the need that roared through him, Mark thrust into her. The shower beat on his back as he bent over Justine, his mouth on hers, his shaft buried inside her to the hilt. He pounded in and out of her in a fierce rhythm, the water drenching them both, but nothing could dampen the fire of passion that burned within him, demanding that he declare his ownership of her in a way that didn’t require words.
Justine clung to him and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her shoulders slammed up and down against the glass wall with a force that rattled the door of the shower stall. She tipped her head back, her eyes closed. He could no longer reach her lips, but he kissed her neck, drinking droplets from her skin.
When he felt her tighten around him, he sank inside her in one final powerful thrust. He roared out his release, the hoarse sound echoing between the glass walls. Justine shuddered in his arms. A keening sound burst from her lips and mingled with the fading echo of his.
He gathered her close, his head buried in the crook of her shoulder, and held her tight until she untangled her legs from around him and lowered her feet back to the tiled floor. Even then he clung to her, unwilling to let her go.
“The water is going cold,” she told him finally.
He raised his head to look at her. Her lips were red and swollen, her eyes dark with passion. Suddenly, it seemed important that he find out this very instant if her feelings for him matched the strength of his. “What would you do if I had just made you pregnant?” he muttered out the question, part of him wanting her not to hear and fail to give him a response, in case it was the wrong one
“I guess I’d have a baby in nine months.” Her lips moved as she hesitated about saying something more, but instead she simply reached up and cupped her palm against his cheek.
Mark swallowed. It felt as if the outlook for life ahead of him had suddenly opened wide, expanding from the narrow view he’d been looking through, into a sunny landscape of family picnics and children playing on his lawn. A tremor ran over him as he accepted his willingness to trust a woman again.
He released his arms from around Justine and traced his fingertips over her features, lingering on each one. She stared up at him, her eyes full of questions. Mark decided the answers would have to wait. He wanted the threat of the disciplinary hearing out of the way before he talked to Justine about the future, and how he wanted her to be part of his.
